Recipes for Love and Murder (29 page)

‘So, did her father then give Martine the money when she had her son?'

‘No, because when she did have a child, she wouldn't allow her father to see him. So then he removed her from his will, but left her share to his grandson in a trust fund. But as it stands, Jamie only gets the money on Grandpa's death. It's a lot of money.'

‘I still don't get it,' I said. ‘Even if what you say is true, Candy's very rich. She doesn't need the money.'

Kannemeyer shook his head.

‘She
was
very rich. She earned well as a model and then her father, Martine's uncle, left her a fortune. But she married a Texas oil farmer who lost most of it on a bad deal. He cheated on her, and she got a bit of money out of the divorce, enough to set herself up in the clothing business. She does okay . . . but nothing like what she'll be getting.'

‘And the oupa wouldn't mind her stealing from a sick boy?'

‘He's happy for Candy to be the trustee. There's more than enough money for them both.'

‘How do you know all this?'

He tugged at the corner of his moustache.

‘When we're not busy getting you lot out of trouble,' he said, ‘we get a bit of work done.'

‘But Candy wasn't even here when Martine died,' I said. ‘She's only just arrived.'

It felt strange to be defending Candy. But it was one thing to believe she was a man-stealer. Quite another to think she would steal a life. Murder her own cousin.

‘Her car rental shows she's had the car for a week.'

‘And it was a man. We saw a man the night of Lawrence's murder.'

‘Are you sure? She's quite a big woman, and she might have been wearing a man's shoes.'

‘She doesn't walk like a man.'

‘You saw a flash of someone in a storm.'

‘You've seen her, Detective. She does not walk like a man.'

Kannemeyer sighed and said, ‘She might be working with someone else.'

‘A man who also gains from Martine's death . . . ' I said. ‘The brother! He's been close by. He was at Sanbona game reserve last week.'

‘You don't need to worry about it,' he said. ‘I just wanted to warn you to be careful. I don't want to discuss the murder case with you.'

He'd finished his meal and he put his knife and fork together. I opened the rattling window to let in the cool breeze. It washed through the house.

‘Is there anything else you can talk about?' I said, sitting down again. ‘How was your day?'

We could pretend he wasn't my bodyguard, that he was just visiting me. I buttered my toast. My hunger came rushing back, like a lost dog coming home.

‘Well . . . ' He twisted the tip of his moustache with his finger. He would play the game. ‘I saw a little bokkie on the way here.'

‘What kind of bokkie?'

‘A steenbuck.'

‘They are hard to spot,' I said between mouthfuls. ‘They lie so still in the shadows.'

‘They mate for life,' he said. ‘And I went to the Spar.'

‘What if their mate dies?'

‘No, then they find another. Unless they are too old.'

The breeze brought in the smell of damp earth. Perhaps it was raining on the Swartberge.

‘What did you buy at the Spar?' I said.

The eggs were delicious. Light and fluffy.

‘I wasn't shopping. Things are being stolen off the shelves. Tins and dried goods, lentils, rice, that sort of thing.'

‘They called you in?'

‘The manager thinks it may be staff. The packers.'

‘Why does he think that?'

‘Oh, I don't know, probably because it's been going on and on. Something small is stolen every day.'

‘It doesn't seem worth it to me. They could lose their jobs. Small town like this, it's hard to get another job.'

Kannemeyer shrugged.

‘I've told them to keep an eye on the shoppers who come in every day. The people who buy their lunch there, chips and pies.'

I nodded and asked, ‘What about security cameras?'

‘Expensive. More expensive than tins and rice.'

I wiped my plate with the last piece of toast and popped it in my mouth. He started to clear the table and I joined in, putting the washing up in the sink. Then I served him the last piece of snake cake. He smelled of honey, like the cake.

‘What about you?' he said.

The cake looked good but there wasn't enough for two.

‘I'm full,' I said.

‘I mean, how was your day?'

‘Mine?'

We were sitting again now, at the table. He ate the toffee cake with his fingers. His grey-blue eyes were on me; he was ready to listen.

This was a strange feeling, a man sitting there ready to listen to me. I suppose it was something I'd always wanted and now that I had it I didn't know what to do with it.

I said: ‘Funerals make me tired. I don't know why.'

‘I know what you mean.'

‘Heavy, like I'm carrying the weight of a dead body.'

He nodded. I thought of Kannemeyer's sad face when he was bearing the coffin.

‘But it feels like more than that one dead body,' I said. ‘It's like all the other deaths from before are also there.'

He looked down at his plate and pressed his fingertips onto the last crumbs. They kept falling off but he pressed his fingers onto them again and again.

I could hear the first drops of soft rain on the stoep roof.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

The next morning I was up before the birds, and made us breakfast. I couldn't very well do scrambled eggs so I made poached eggs – what my mother used to call ‘calf's eye' eggs – in a tomato base, with some fried beef sausage. I also baked a quick batch of cheese scones, and a pot of mieliepap. Kannemeyer folded the sheets on his couch, then helped me carry the breakfast outside. There was butter and apricot jam with bread, and milk and sugar for the maize porridge. And a small plate of John's grapes, which were still black and firm.

We sat on the stoep and while we had breakfast we watched the Rooiberg turn red, and then the tops of the rolling brown hills getting lit up. I was hungry but after eating a cheese scone and one poached egg and sausage I was satisfied. When I was finished with eating and looking at the sun-red hills, I watched Kannemeyer eat. He needed a shave but his moustache looked very smart. He was a man with an appetite, and he ate something of everything that we'd laid out. When he had finished with the warm food, he slowly ate a small bunch of grapes, while he looked at my garden and at me.

The birds were awake then, and calling to each other, so there was no need for us to talk. Then we heard a car turning off the R62, heading up my driveway.

‘That'll be Sergeant Vorster,' said Kannemeyer, checking his moustache for crumbs.

‘Do you wax your moustache?' I said.

‘Sometimes. Just the tips,' he said. ‘With beeswax.'

That explained why he smelled of honey.

‘I'd better get going,' he said.

‘The old man, in hospital,' I said, then I shook my head. ‘Never mind.'

I knew he wouldn't tell me and I didn't want to ruin our game.

‘Have a nice day,' I said.

‘See you later,' he said, standing up.

He bent over close, with his honey and cinnamon smell, and for a moment I thought he was going to kiss me goodbye. But of course he was bending down to pick up our bowls and plates, which he took into the kitchen. The game was over.

‘I'll clean up,' I said. ‘Never mind.'

I dished Vorster the rest of the porridge.

Kannemeyer drove off and I stood on the grass and fed my chickens and listened to the sound of his car moving further and further away.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

The phone rang. I thought it might be Hattie with news of the meeting last night. But it was Jessie.

‘There's a lawyer. At the hospital.'

‘Is the old man okay?'

‘He's alive, but weak.'

‘Is Candy there?'

‘Ja, and the brother. She asked my mother and the police guard if they'd sign a document as witnesses, but they said no.'

‘I wonder if it's his will,' I said. ‘Can't the police stop it?'

‘They're doing nothing illegal,' she said.

‘We'll have to stop them ourselves,' I said.

I parked my blue bakkie next to Jessie's red scooter in the hospital car park. We shared the shade of the rubber tree. The day was hot already and the cicadas were singing their same tuneless note.

Jessie was pacing at the hospital entrance. She wore khaki pants and what looked like army boots, and was armed with a pen and paper. I had khaki veldskoene and a Tupperware with some grapes in it. We were ready for battle.

It felt good to have Jessie by my side again. We marched into the hospital together and met Sister Mostert, her uniform as white and fresh as always.

‘Hallo, Ma,' said Jessie, giving her a soentjie on the cheek.

‘I'll show you where they are,' said Sister Mostert.

A woman police guard stood at the entrance to the ward.

Sister Mostert led us past her, saying: ‘Oupa Brown, you've got visitors.'

But three of them were blocking our way to Oupa.

Candy was in cream again, with her peach skin and her sunshine smile. The brother was still in his shiny suit, crumpled now, as if he'd slept in it. He frowned at us like there was a bad smell in the air, but all I could smell was disinfectant.

I could tell the lawyer by his briefcase and expensive haircut. He didn't smile or frown, he just looked at us as if he was trying to guess our kilograms and centimetres. I think he was deciding if we could be useful to him.

‘Maria,' said Candy, ‘Jessie. So glad you've popped by.'

‘How's your uncle doing?' I asked.

‘Much better, as you can see.'

But I couldn't see because they were in my way. One on each side, and one at the foot of the bed. I opened my Tupperware and held out the grapes; I used them to wind my way past Candice towards the old man.

‘Some sweet grapes for Oupa,' I said.

The brother twisted round and wrinkled his nose at me, and Jessie took the gap and ducked past him. We now stood on either side of the old man. He looked pale and old, and he seemed to hardly see us. But he reached out for the grapes. The police guard stepped forward and took them away. The old man squawked.

‘No,' I said.

Those were the last I had of those nice black grapes.

‘Sorry, sir, ma'am,' the policewoman said. ‘No food's allowed from outside the hospital. For your own protection.'

‘Poison,' the old man whispered to Jessie. ‘Someone tried to poison me.'

‘You're just in time,' said Candy, ‘to act as witnesses.'

The lawyer had a piece of paper on a clipboard that he held up.

‘We just need you to witness that Mr Peter Brown is, in actual fact, signing these documents.'

I opened my eyes wide, like this was all news to me. Jessie gave me a little wink.

‘Do you know what's in this document, Mr Brown?' asked Jessie.

‘Oh, man,' said David, ‘we've been through this twice. Can we just get this over with?'

Jessie ignored him.

‘Mr Brown?' she said.

‘It's my will,' said the old man. ‘Some changes.'

‘Have you read and understood the changes?' she asked.

‘I can't find my specs. But Candy explained them to me,' he said.

‘We just need you as witnesses that he is signing,' said the lawyer, putting the pen into the hand of the old man. ‘Other details are not relevant.'

The old man made a long wobbly signature like the trail of a snail that you sometimes find on the sink in the morning. Then the lawyer gave the pen to Jessie, and tapped the place on the page for her to sign.

‘Where?' she said, looking at the page, even though he was already showing her where.

‘Just sign here,' he said.

She dropped the pen.

‘Oops,' she said.

The lawyer bent down to pick it up, but it somehow skidded across the room. Maybe someone bumped it with her foot. The air conditioner was making a humming noise now.

‘Oh, for God's sake,' said David.

While David and the lawyer went after the pen, Jessie read through the page. She was like a reading machine. By the time the lawyer was back with the pen, she was passing the page across to me. The lawyer reached for it, but his arms weren't long enough. I thought Candy might try grab it from me, but she didn't.

The lawyer got on his cell phone and made a call to someone, telling them to get the hell over here to witness a document.

My reading was slow, and the language was all round-about, long lawyer-words, but I could see what it was saying.

‘My assistant is on her way,' the lawyer said. ‘You can go.'

‘Hang on,' I said.

When I'd finished reading I looked up at Jessie and we both nodded. I signed and then she did too.

‘Stop!' a voice said.

It was Kannemeyer. I hadn't heard him come in, and now he was at the foot of the bed looking down on us all. His moustache was quivering in the way that squirrel tails do when they are all worked up.

‘Candice Webster and David Brown. I need to you to come to the station for questioning. Now.'

‘My clients are not obliged to answer anything,' said the lawyer.

Candy put a hand on her hip and cocked her head to one side.

‘Why, Detective Kannemeyer,' she said. ‘Just the man I wanted to see.'

She gave him a smile, not her usual sweet smile, but a strange small one, as if she was in pain. He didn't smile back.

‘Perhaps this can answer your questions for you,' she said as she handed him the clipboard with the paper.

I watched him reading the changes to the will. He didn't read as fast as Jessie, but he wasn't as slow as me either.